


a year or a day

by taonsils (mirokkuma)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: (tiny tiny angst), Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/taonsils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Truth is on the Sunday Junmyeon had bought a ticket to see Zitao on the big screen, and by Tuesday he'd felt so unbearably listless about it that he booked a flight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a year or a day

**Author's Note:**

> I really needed this project in my life ; ; I hope prompter enjoys all this silly fluff as much as I have working on it! the timeline and details of this are more or less worked to be canon, as are the descriptions of Tao's home (if you've never seen it please [check it out](https://youtu.be/SXZjxuJu0KI?t=5s) (for context and because it's just so amazingly Tao))  
> (prompt #120)

More than once during the journey Junmyeon wonders what, exactly, seeing Zitao in the flesh rather than in pixels will be like. It's on his mind how to greet him all the way through passport control — how much Mandarin he's learnt (a lot, with guidance. Conversationally, nowhere near as much as Sehun) and how much Korean Zitao has undoubtedly forgotten with disuse. But then Junmyeon is through into the open, and within thirty seconds he sees a girl double-take and reach for her phone. Other things to think about right now.

It's not like he can't visit whoever he wants in his own time, but it's not like this wouldn't be news, either. Bad news, probably, somehow.

Junmyeon stuffs his cap down firmly over his face and texts [here!!! (｡´•ㅅ•｡)] as he scoots towards the exit unaware of if many more people recognise him along the way. Sehun can probably let him know soon enough, that he saw film of him power walking, absorbed in his phone.

In seconds Zitao's replied with hearts and directions and hearts again but no mention of how to identify him. Junmyeon is half through thumbing out a questioning text about that as he makes his way along the quieter side-street just off to the right of the main doors. But then he looks up from under the brim of his cap, and, well, there's only one Lamborghini parked up. (It's the black and white one — technically there's only one in the entire country. Junmyeon saw it in the news. Nice and subtle.)

Junmyeon drops his bag from his shoulder and gives the car an appreciative once-over as he steps nearer. He's sure Zitao's own fans would recognise it, but hopefully not anyone interested in himself. News spreads fast, though, and if he'd thought that he might cry or laugh or hold Zitao's face in his hands like a mother seeing how much their baby has grown in a year away— there isn't time for any of that. Junmyeon's preoccupied with getting in, dragging his bag down into his lap. He's not even sure when the first time he looks at Zitao is, between checking out the window for cameras that may have followed him down here and tugging on his seatbelt as the car purrs in warning of them setting off.

But when he stops flustering to really just sit back and look, Zitao is grinning at him. It's really been so long. And even having become long accustomed to them, Zitao's features are still striking, and Junmyeon's probably not smiling back.

His cap dislodges as he flops fully back into the seat under the weight of his bag. "That's always the stressful part," he sighs, meaning the entire process of plane to car. Not the whole trying to subtly get himself and a heavy bag into a limited edition Lamborghini on an illicit visit that will undoubtedly be trending on weibo within the hour thing. Though to be fair, that too.

Zitao laughs when Junmyeon elaborates that thought, taking a hand from the wheel and just pressing it into Junmyeon wherever it lands, grasping at his forearm. It's probably for the best he chose to drive; if they'd sat in the back together Junmyeon's pretty sure he wouldn't only have his bag to contend with. Junmyeon fiddles with the straps when Zitao's given him his arm back and doesn't really feel stressed at all, now. Zitao's got that air freshener that Sehun gave him in here, and Junmyeon doesn't like black cherry in the back of his throat any more here than he does at home, but this feels like a familiar space already.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" Zitao asks. "We didn't get to figuring that out in texts."

"Is that a good idea?" Junmyeon can't figure out which of the shiny buttons on the console between them is related to the radio. It all looks cool though.

"There's a few places I don't usually have any problems. If you want to eat." Zitao takes his hand from the wheel again to gesture vaguely in some direction, and his sleeve slips down. His cream sweater looks an intentionally fashionable size too large and the sleeves two sizes too long. The right stays rolled up above his elbow, but the left inches down towards his wrist within moments of him pushing it back up. Zitao scowls.

"I've got it," Junmyeon says. They've stopped at a light, but Junmyeon reaches over to do it for him anyway. Zitao would just keep pushing it back up without rolling the cuff to hold it in place. "I was kind of worried, actually." It's easier to say that while he's focused on tucking Zitao's sleeve above his elbow. "Somehow. That we wouldn't be able to talk. I don't know why."

"What? Why?" Zitao still asks, earrings swinging as he jerks his head to the side. "We talk on the phone."

"That's different."

"Do you think I use a translator for my texts?"

"No— I don't know." Junmyeon shrugs. He's just holding Zitao's arm now, thumb stroking at his inner elbow. He feels a little cold. Or maybe it's Junmyeon's hand. "It was stupid. I just worried."

"My Korean is really good still," Zitao huffs, tone notching back up to the pitch Junmyeon is used to hearing. His hair is bright and fluffy and adds to the way he looks like a puffed up little bird when he's insulted. "My English is even better."

"Mine too," Junmyeon says to a sceptical look. Ok, rude. He drops his hand back into his lap when the light ahead of them changes.

"Where do you want to go?" Zitao asks again, in lilting English. If he sounds a little impatient it's because he has to decide which turning to take. Junmyeon doesn't make it in time and grips at the edge of his seat as they end up taking a sharp left.

English doesn't exactly come fast to him, but at least going places and being places is one of the main categories he's learned. "I would like," Junmyeon starts easily, and Zitao glances over to him, impressed. Junmyeon doesn't know what he'd like, though, and ends up laughing too hard at Zitao's increasingly despairing expression for it to matter.

"You have to choose," Zitao whines, gesturing to the road, impatient to just get somewhere.

Going out together would just mean sitting and talking with some atmosphere. And other people around, and general public formalities and restrictions. Junmyeon's not even entirely sure what they should talk about, or how they'll react when they have each other's full focus. It's more surreal seeing Zitao in person than it was seeing someone he didn't recognise enough on screen, and all the while they're still moving and talking Junmyeon isn't even trying to process it.

There had been that initial few weeks of adjustment when they knew he really wasn't coming home. Junmyeon wilfully ignored the tension in their group chat, and that Sehun dealt with it by asking Junmyeon to tack his replies onto the ends of his own messages. Zitao texts whenever he remembers, between work and gaming. Junmyeon (loudly, embarrassingly) follows his activities. Every single one. Work and existing outside of it isn't what necessitated needing to see Zitao in person.

Junmyeon decides. "I'd like to see your home," he says, reaching over and giving Zitao's knee a gentle pat.

"Ok," Zitao agrees with no protest for the more interesting places they could be. Junmyeon's fingers dig into his leg as they make another sharp turn.

Perhaps thankfully Junmyeon will have to take a cab back to the airport anyway. Sehun often trusted Zitao with his life when he needed a ride, but Junmyeon's never had the pleasure before, and in a car itching to speed up and the traffic here that's.. something.

 

Junmyeon seems a lot bigger than he was the last time Zitao saw him with his own two eyes. Not taller — he's still right where he's always been, head beside Zitao's shoulder and tilted up to chatter to him as they walk. But when Zitao hugged him just now, briefly before the elevator doors opened, he didn't fit in Zitao's arms anything like he used to. Zitao's curious where the tiny hyung he slept with hotel to hotel throughout that summer has gone, and Junmyeon's easily carrying both of their bags over one arm.

 

"This is a really nice place," Junmyeon decides before he's seen much more of Zitao's apartment than the hallway. It's got a nice feel to it, aside from being almost as big as the dorm. Zitao insistently ushers him along when he'd rather be taking his time, but even at only a quick glance Junmyeon likes it. A little overboard in places, luxurious but cosy. Cluttered, but mostly with sentimentality; nothing like Junmyeon's room.

"It suits you," Junmyeon tells Zitao over his shoulder. He sets the bags down on the couch, hearing the little pops of his spine as he straightens back up. The couch looks more like something you'd find in the highest rooms of the tall hotels they passed on their way here. It's ornamental, silver, and the fabric is flecked with glitter. It doesn't match anything else in the room, and Junmyeon almost laughs. It's so Zitao.

"And you've been here a whole six months without burning it down."

Zitao makes a face, fiddling with the cuff around his elbow. "Chenchen cooks. My parents too, sometimes. I don't know what anything over there is." He gestures to the whole kitchen area, which includes the nook fitting a washing machine and dryer beside it. And yeah, that definitely includes those too.

"Chenchen.." Junmyeon peers around at the doors down the hall. In the hallway that direction he notices there's a chandelier, and the temptation to laugh comes bubbling up again. The dorm is _nice_ , but..

"He's out. I asked if he could stay out for the day." Zitao's hands move, signing that he signed.

"Ah."

Zitao doesn't text anything like he talks, and he doesn't talk over the phone much like he does face to face. Junmyeon's missed how much of what Zitao expresses is in movement. He didn't forget, but being reminded makes sense of why in time the texts started to feel so flat compared to the real thing.

More than anything right now Junmyeon's just relieved to know that Zitao is settled here, being very much Zitao. If he wasn't too sure in the car, now he's seen a more personal space he's reassured that Zitao is back to himself, more of the person Junmyeon hugged goodbye back in March than the one he took a detour to see in America in August.

"You'll have to show me around, Tao."

"No," Zitao replies, crossing his arms. Junmyeon looks away from the corner where Candy's food and water are kept and up at him, eyes large. "No, because," Zitao continues, "I could have just sent pictures. You're here to see me."

Annoyance doesn't hold on Zitao's features well, always softening to exasperation or flitting to a new emotion entirely. Impatience, Junmyeon would label the look he's been given now. A whole six months and Zitao's never once taken a photo of his new home to send back to his old one.

Stepping around the coffee table, Junmyeon reaches and takes a hold of Zitao's folded arms. "True," he agrees, prying Zitao's wrists from where his hands are tucked under his elbows and pulling his arms out straight. Zitao rolls his eyes as Junmyeon steps nearer and pulls at his sleeves, wrapping both arms around his waist and giving each a securing pat in turn. Junmyeon beams up at him, pleased with himself.

"Stop," Zitao says, nose scrunching. It's safe to say Junmyeon hasn't gotten any less terrible since they last met. He drops his arms a little so they sit more comfortably at Junmyeon's hips, linking his fingers around him. Terrible or not, an entirely different build or not, Junmyeon's the same as he's always been for Zitao.

Junmyeon gives him a pout. "I don't feel like I've even taken a proper look at you yet, Taozi."

"I didn't mean literally _see me_." Zitao puffs out a breath. And then he just stares, eyes moving slowly from feature to feature on Junmyeon. Literally seeing him is pretty nice.

"It's ok, you know?" Junmyeon says into the silence, and Zitao's line of vision breaks and flits away to a stray tuft of hair not tucked behind Junmyeon's ear. "If this is kind of weird. A lot has happened."

Zitao's fingers drum against Junmyeon's hip. "It's not weird. Just, problem is." Zitao stares pointedly above Junmyeon's head now, suddenly taking more interest in his kitchen than in the past six months it's been there. Now he looks, he doesn't really know when half of the items in it got there or who brought them. His dad, probably. "If I cry I'm not gonna stop. So, it's just easier, and it won't take up our time, not to do that."

Junmyeon hums. He brings his hands to rest at Zitao's chest, soft fabric over muscle that didn't used to be so pronounced. Neither of them are entirely familiar now. "Maybe we should," he says, reaching his left hand higher. It's still an easy stretch to the back of Zitao's head when he instinctively curls down into it. "Cry, that is. And get it out the way." Junmyeon smiles, a little bright-eyed, and Zitao leans down to nuzzle his cheek.

 

"Why did you come to see me suddenly?"

"Hm?" Junmyeon keeps scraping out the container of sauce that came with their takeout. His eyes don't flick away from it for a second, but now he's started pouting, frowning. Junmyeon's a certified actor these days, but trying to convincingly act casual is still a little beyond him. "Didn't you say I was always welcome?"

Zitao shrugs, blatantly sneaking a whole handful of fries from the container and tipping his head to knock them back. The time it takes him to chew and lick the salt from his palm isn't long enough for Junmyeon to come up with a better answer than the real one — the movie was great, actor Huang Zitao is great; Junmyeon misses seeing and talking to Tao, off-stage Tao, his _érzi_ , and he can't find him anywhere but right here.

"Always. You could have come before. Any time." Zitao's not saying that accusingly. He doesn't really do subtle accusations; if he was pissed he'd sound it, but all he's doing is hungrily watching the food, weighing against Junmyeon's shoulder. With both of their schedules, 'any time' is an impractical concept. Really, it's more asking how and why Junmyeon cleared two days to coincide with when Zitao could too.

His hand starts to go for the fries that are on Junmyeon's side this time, and Junmyeon gently smacks it away. Which only makes Zitao grin and try again, successfully this time. He makes it look like they taste all the better for being stolen, giggling around the mouthful and squirming away before Junmyeon can catch him.

Even with his share of their meal a little depleted, Junmyeon can't keep the fond smile off his face. Zitao doesn't know about his strict regimes or that this is breaking almost all of them, but Junmyeon's pretty sure if he did he'd be complaining and trying to encourage Junmyeon to quit it. That's usually Chanyeol now.

"Answer," Zitao demands from the couch. "Sit with me. Come over here."

Junmyeon considers the state of the kitchen for a split second. Following orders is preferable. "I'm coming. Be patient for ten seconds."

That's approximately eight seconds too long for Zitao — Junmyeon's hooked around the waist and dragged the last few steps, pulled down into Zitao's side. The food makes it safely down too, just. Junmyeon almost complains about it, hating to think how much cleaning grease out of this couch would cost. But there wasn't actually any disaster, and Zitao looks more than pleased to have both Junmyeon and a meal literally fall into his lap.

For a few minutes the subject goes seemingly forgotten as they eat, the tv on in the background and Zitao trying to talk around every mouthful about things he's been doing. Things Junmyeon already knows, but he's content to hear it all again from source rather than Sehun-translated-weibo. It gives him more opportunity to eat before Zitao hoovers it all up, too.

Even busily talking Zitao finishes his half first, though, and his line of vision immediately drifts to how much Junmyeon has left. He shifts to reach over and start on Junmyeon's side of the container, because that's how being one of Zitao's favourite people works. Junmyeon swats at him, but mostly just because Zitao's knee digs into his waist too hard for comfort. Zitao's in the wrong here, but it's him that makes an annoyed sound and retaliates to defend his steal.

Junmyeon doesn't seem to do things like this much any more; everyone remaining in the dorm tends to understand the concept of personal space in a better capacity than Zitao ever has. They've already done their crying and gotten it out of the way, so Junmyeon swallows down the sudden tightness in his throat. Despite the glaringly (glittering) obvious difference in surroundings, this all feels a little nostalgic.

Taking a breath to try and clear that, Junmyeon swallows again and gives Zitao a gentle nudge. "I saw your movie. I forgot to mention. It was the middle of the night, you know how it is." He smiles, and Zitao knowingly nods. That's generally how they do much of anything in public they want to do, out like vampires.

Zitao's earrings make that soft clinking sound they always do as he leans back into Junmyeon's side to go in for a second piece of stolen chicken. "So you came to tell me it was great," he says before he chews, and Junmyeon grins. They can definitely go with that.

"It really was. You should be very proud."

Zitao undoubtedly already is, but praise is the next best thing he can get from Junmyeon after leeched body heat and all the food he's been stealing. Normally that would be physical, but both of them have greasy fingers, tender from the hot food, so they keep them to themselves. Zitao butts against Junmyeon's shoulder like the big cat he is, just to let him know he's pleased.

Junmyeon's kind of grown out of a lot of the habits he only developed due to having Zitao around all the time, but it's nice to be back with that careless affection. Elbowing Zitao in return is only going to start a fight, he knows. So he does, right in his ribs, and after the initial squawk Zitao pounces. 

Truth is on the Sunday Junmyeon had bought a ticket to see Zitao on the big screen, and by Tuesday he'd felt so unbearably listless about it that he booked a flight. And it's helping. This isn't anything, really, just sitting and eating and playing together, but whatever it was that Junmyeon needed to quell, it's helping.

 

Chenchen doesn't come home, and Zitao surely has a spare room, if not rooms in this place. But despite the space they make a good effort of minimising it — they clash three times in the kitchen; their shoulders bump in the bathroom. And Junmyeon would guess Zitao's bed could fit four people (well, four Junmyeons. Maybe only three Zitaos), but Zitao's long, sleepy breaths are warm right beside his neck.

Junmyeon's used to sleeping in unfamiliar places, and this is completely familiar to Zitao. But half an hour after Junmyeon dug a spare shirt out of his bag and was with very little finesse coaxed from the couch to Zitao's room, he's still wide awake. They've shared beds enough in the past that he's pretty sure he can tell just from listening when Zitao's not asleep, either.

"Tao?"

Zitao's big warm body immediately shifts closer, like that was permission to stop pretending he's more interested in sleep than cuddles. "Has it been an hour yet? It feels like hours," he mumbles, voice low and slurred. Not asleep, but on the way. "Usually I sleep fine."

"Are you saying it's my fault?" Junmyeon teases, then huffs when the full weight of Zitao's arm is thrown around his waist. "Then it's your fault I'm not asleep either," he tells Zitao, and that makes him grumble. Both arms find their way around Junmyeon, and there's no escape once Zitao's draped over his back like a big heavy blanket. Not that there's particularly anywhere else Junmyeon wants to be. If he'd wondered if time and circumstance would mean that affection was less necessary, less appropriate.. He's not really sure how he could have even entertained that thought when it's Zitao in question. He strokes the curve of Zitao's wrist with his thumb and Zitao noses at his shoulder, trying to fit in under his chin like he always has done. Always will do, and always can do, whether Junmyeon is tiny or not.

Getting Zitao comfortably pillowed on Junmyeon's shoulder takes some manoeuvring when his sleepy coordination doesn't allow for detaching himself from being a shell stuck to Junmyeon's back first. But with some effort they get there, and Junmyeon at least feels a lot more tired out now after all that exertion. For someone complaining that they couldn't sleep, Zitao's suspiciously lax and unresponsive the next time Junmyeon gives him a nudge. Ah, well.

Junmyeon's more used to getting a bed (and shower, and most spaces, really) all to himself these days, but Zitao doesn't get much choice in the matter. Junmyeon's never felt it his business to ask whether Chenchen is a cuddler. He promises he'll come back soon, so they can do all of this nothing again, because at 2am that feels very possible. He combs his fingers through Zitao's coarse fluffy hair, away from where it's fallen over his eyes and out to where it's growing long and messy at the back. It'd tie back into a sweet little ponytail, Junmyeon thinks dozily. Zitao is sweet, little.. Sort of. Always little to him, and should always be getting all of the attention and affection he wants.

 

Junmyeon slept, apparently. It doesn't feel much like he has, but the room is bright and sun-warm the next time he opens his eyes. Zitao's since rolled off of his shoulder and is buried down against his side instead, just a fluffy blonde tuft sticking out from under the covers. The sticky heat between them is awful now Junmyeon's awake enough to notice it, even though he soon finds that he's pushed his shirt up in the night to let some cool air in. All that's resulted in is bare skin stuck with sweat — Zitao's belly to his waist. Ugh. But they did bed share for an entire summer, so it's no level of gross, overly familiar intimacy Junmyeon isn't used to being victim to sharing.

Zitao doesn't so much as make a sound as Junmyeon carefully peels himself free, doesn't seem disturbed at all by the flood of light from Junmyeon's phone. Wincing, Junmyeon turns it down anyway.

Three hours until he needs to be up and out of here. Junmyeon sets his alarm for two and a quarter, skims the notifications from the night, gently sets his phone aside. Wriggling back in under the covers isn't as easy when Zitao is heavy with sleep and not voluntarily dragging Junmyeon in, but after some prodding and tugging Junmyeon is comfortable again. Crushed, overheated. It's disgustingly clammy, and a tuft of Zitao's hair is tickling right under his jaw. He tries to smooth it down, but it just flips straight back up.

Junmyeon splutters as much from the waft of peroxide as the prospect of hair in his mouth, and a little grumbly sound comes from the mound of blankets weighing down on him. Oh, oh no. Junmyeon pats softly at Zitao's shoulder.

"Good morning?" He ventures. The blankets — and Zitao — grumble again, and the whole pile rolls fully on top of Junmyeon in a big heavy swamp of heat. It's airless and about a hundred degrees under here, and everything is clammy and gross. When it's Zitao, though, it doesn't ever really matter how gross, uncomfortable, impractical. It's the way he is, reckless to happiness. And Junmyeon's got a whole two hours of it left, and he couldn't be happier, either.


End file.
